Romeo, Romeo
by bethamphetamine
Summary: Set in the early days of the Junior Gazette, Spike convinces Lynda to try out for the school play. Will Norbridge High's own starcrossed lovers stop fighting before the curtain comes up on opening night? FULLY REVISED.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Lynda Day didn't always dream peacefully, in fact, it was quite a rarity.

In this one, however, she was dreaming of a long, sandy beach with the waves gently breaking on shore. The kind you see in romantic films, not that Lynda was a connoisseur of the genre. It was pleasantly sunny and Lynda was strolling the beach alone, the sand warm on her bare feet. No noise apart from the gentle shush of the waves. No pressure.

Then why was Spike running towards her at top speed? He seemed to be shouting something. Lynda stopped and listened hard.

"Lynda!"

"Spike?"

"LYNDA!"

Lynda sat up suddenly. There at the foot of her bed, in real life and not on a beach in paradise, was Spike Thomson, grinning that infuriatingly American grin with his stupid sunglasses on.

"Spike?" She frowned, what was he doing in her bedroom? Was this still part of the dream? Bit of a downgrade, if so.

"Hey, you recognise me straight after you wake up, that's a good sign!" Spike took his shades off and looked at Lynda, with the hint of a smirk. Lynda realised she was sitting up in bed in her favourite stripy pyjamas opposite the one person that drove her crazy and did what she always did when she was embarrassed; started being bossy.

"Spike Thomson! What the hell are you doing in my room at 8.30 on a Saturday morning?"

"Your mother was just about to go out to the shops but she said I could wait around for you to wake up." Spike plunked himself down on the bed. "I think she meant downstairs but I thought if I could see what you look like in the mornings, I could make up my mind whether to marry you or not."

"So?" Lynda said in an annoyed tone.

"So I think that maybe we should put a screen in the middle of the bed. You'd scare Godzilla away."

Lynda threw back the covers and swung her feet onto the floor, "Spike, I do not appreciate you coming into my bedroom cracking your terrible jokes at me while I'm half asleep! I need some time to prepare my return fire."

"Let me guess," Spike looked thoughtful, "You're not a morning person."

Lynda sighed and stood up, then wished she hadn't.

"Hey, Boss! Why don't you wear those into the newsroom again sometime? I forgot how cute they were."

Lynda threw Spike daggers as she grabbed her dressing gown from her wardrobe, "Come down to the kitchen if you must be here, idiot."

"Anything you say, Lynda dear," Spike pulled himself up and followed Lynda out the door and down the stairs. They reached the kitchen and Lynda put the kettle on.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee," Spike made himself comfortable on a chair. "Nice house. I've been here once before but that was only a quick run-through."

Lynda leant against the counter, crossed her arms across her chest and gave Spike a stern look. "Okay Thomson, spill. Why are you here?"

"What, you mean I can't visit such a vision of beauty and not have a reason?" Spike looked taken aback.

"Spike!" Lynda was losing patience.

"Alright, don't get your mane in a mess. I came over to see if you were thinking of maybe trying out for the part of Juliet in the school play."

"School play?" Lynda could hardly believe her own ears. "You came to see if I was going to audition for the school play. At 8.30 in the morning. On a Saturday."

Spike nodded. "Yeah!"

"Why would I want to do a stupid thing like that?" Lynda asked.

"Well, it was either you or Kenny." Spike grinned his lopsided grin, "So how 'bout it, Boss?"

"Spike, I have a newspaper to run and can't very well drop everything for a stupid school play." Lynda turned to pour the hot water into the mugs. "Besides, I can't act."

"You, Lynda Day, can't act! Then you don't rehearse your insults every morning before school in the mirror."

Lynda sighed. "Look Spike, I'm just not interested, okay?" She looked at Spike curiously. "Anyway, why are you all of a sudden so interested in the school play?"

"Well, I was going to try out." Spike put a hand to his chest, "I think I'm quite a natural! 'Romeo, Romeo! Where for art thou, Romeo?' What'dya think?"

"That's Juliet," Lynda rolled her eyes. "Philistine."

"Philistine? I thought it was Capulet? Don't tell me I read the wrong Cliff notes!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lynda walked into the newsroom by herself. The first thing she saw was Frazz slothed out across two desks. She sighed and marched over.

"Frazz!" No answer. "FRAZZ!"

Frazz slept on peacefully. Lynda grabbed Spike's Walkman that was lying on the desk near by, cranked up the volume, placed the headphones on Frazz's head and pressed "play".

"WHAT THE?" Frazz bolted upright as his ears were assaulted with Spike's current favourite tape, "Best Ever Rock Songs, Volume 2."

Lynda merely raised a critical eyebrow.

Frazz gave a guilty laugh, "Uh, Lynda. I was just uh, resting my eyes for a bit. Yeah."

"Well, rest them outside my newsroom!" Lynda dropped the Walkman on Frazz's stomach and strode back to her desk. "Kenny, I want the graphics team lined up against the wall and shot at!" She opened her desk drawer and dropped her bag inside.

"Good morning, Lynda." Kenny didn't look up from the book he was reading.

"Tell Colin I need last weeks' sales figures today not Easter 2017. Get Sarah to sharpen up her piece on the school play auditions and get Danny to get some photos of them. Oh and I don't need that story on the kindergarten robbery, it turned out one of the kids just decided that the hamster needed a new home. In the sand-pit."

"Yeah." Kenny still didn't look up from his book.

Lynda glanced up. "Kenny, what are you reading?"

"Hmm?" Kenny looked up, "Oh, it's Romeo and Juliet."

"Oh, not you too!"

"Hello! Girls and boys!", Spike announced his arrival loudly as usual, "Girls please, you can kiss my feet in a conga line!" He sailed over to Lynda's desk. "Good morning, Boss. Again."

"Again?" Kenny looked confused at first and then slowly grinned.

"Shut up, Kenny!" said Lynda, warningly.

"Lynda let me walk with her as far as the Gazette building then she insisted she go in first, so no-one would know we walked here together," Spike explained, cheerfully.

"Spike!" Lynda hissed.

"Kenny, I tell you, this woman is so nuts about me, her face even manages to turn my favourite colour when I compliment her. Red!" Spike perched himself on the side of Lynda's desk.

Kenny smiled and turned to Lynda with a mock serious expression, "Is that true, Lynda?"

Lynda glared poisonously at Spike as she got up and grabbed a folder off of her desk, "Of course it isn't. Spike's just being pathetic as usual." She marched off, her head held high.

Spike leaned over towards Kenny, "Watch this. Hey Lynda!"

Lynda whirled around. "For God's sake, Spike, what?"

"I really like the way your hair looks today!" Spike called over to her.

Lynda narrowed her eyes as she turned a deep shade of red. Spike shrugged at an amazed Kenny, "What'd I tell ya?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Later that week, Kenny and Sarah sat in the half-full school hall during the auditions for Romeo and Juliet.

"Who do you think will get in?" Sarah whispered. This year's choice of play had all of Norbridge High buzzing like never before and despite a heavy workload on the paper as well as studies, most of the Junior Gazette were trying their hands at auditioning.

"I dunno," Kenny whispered back, "There's some pretty good contenders."

"So what part are you trying out for?" Sarah asked.

"Just Juliet's father, Lord Capulet. Dunno why, really. I just got caught up in the fever!"

"So who's going for the part of . . ."

"Never fear, Romeo is here!" Spike plunked himself in the row of seats behind Sarah and Kenny.

"You're really trying out for the part of Romeo?" Sarah said excitedly, poising pen to paper.

"Yup, and if I'm not mistaken, here comes my leading lady!" said Spike as Lynda came in meekly through the doors and glanced fleetingly through the hall. Sarah waved her over.

"Shut up, Kenny," Lynda said at once as she slipped into a seat next to Sarah, and hiccupped loudly. Spike laughed.

"Juliet, Juliet, here for art me, Romeo!" he said and attempted to kiss her hand. She pulled away.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she muttered.

"I do," said Spike, cheekily. "I heard what you did to sales of last year's play! I reckon Winters has told you that you need to double sales of tickets this year or you won't get your A Levels. And what better way to do it than play opposite me?"

"For your information, that play was nothing short of unstructured, self-indulgent rubbish," she snapped. "A lot like your attempts at reporting. And furthermore . . ."

"Can we have all those interested in auditioning for the role of Juliet come forward please?" called Mr Sullivan, who had found himself volunteered for the role of director. Lynda remained in her seat.

"Well, go on, Boss!" said Spike nudging her. Lynda hiccupped in reply.

"Come on, Lynda, I'm going to audition too," said Sarah, getting up. Lynda reluctantly followed her to Mr Sullivan and hastily wrote her name on his clipboard in a way which was not like her customary bold, decisive print. Sullivan told the group of girls they had to wait around until the last two Romeos were through, which happened to be Spike and former forced Junior Gazette worker, Godfrey Hunter.

As they made their way back to their seats, Spike's name was called and he passed Lynda and Sarah in the aisle.

"Wish me luck, Boss!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah. Break a leg," she muttered and sat down next to Kenny.

Much as she hated to admit it, Spike was very good. He had obviously put a lot of effort into learning the play and even used a very convincing English accent which wasn't strictly necessary. When he had finished his monologue, there was a smattering of applause from the small audience that the other hopefuls did not recieve. Mr Sullivan looked very impressed.

"Well done, Spike. However, I believe it's the first time I've ever heard of sunglasses in fair Verona."

"Hey, these are bright lights!" answered Spike jovially and leapt off the stage.

"Quite!" replied Mr Sullivan in his usual manner and smiled. "Next, Godfrey Hunter. Last one."

Godfrey made his way onto the stage and quivered gormlessly throughout his audition. Spike returned to his fellow Gazetters.

"So, what did you think?" he asked in his English accent.

"Brilliant!" replied Sarah at once. Kenny nodded in agreement.

"Who'd you steal the accent from?" asked Lynda sarcastically, determined not to stroke Spike's already healthy ego.

"I've got secret tape recordings of you in every possible situation, Boss" replied Spike. "Have I got it down pat or what?"

"What? How dare you!" fumed Lynda. "What did - "

"Relax, Lynda, he's having you on," said Kenny calmingly. "I've been acting as his dialogue coach."

"Well, that's alright then," admitted Lynda grudgingly. "I suppose it could have been worse, Danny for example." At that point, Sarah was called up to audition. They wished her luck.

"'Ow would tha' o' made any diff'rence to the accen'?" Spike asked at once in an exact mimicry of Danny McColl's accent " 'e's one of me china plates, Lynda, if ya don' min'."

"Dick Van Dyke did better in Mary Poppins," said Lynda, caustically.

"Now do Lynda," said Kenny. Spike grinned mischeiviously.

"Spike Thompson, you are the most handsome person in the universe and I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he said in a breathless falsetto. Lynda glared at him and tried to look interested in Sarah's audition which was not very inspiring.

"Thank you, Sarah. Next, Lynda Day," called Sullivan. Lynda hiccupped at once.

"Bye, Boss!" said Kenny. Lynda hicupped again.

"I can't," she replied. "I feel ill."

"Stage fright," said Spike, loftily. "Nothing to be embarrassed about, even if notoriously shy people like Kenny and Sarah are brave enough to get up and have a shot . . ." Lynda set her jaw determinedly as he continued. "I guess she hasn't considered that if I get in as Romeo, I'll be kissing another woman!"

"Oh, yeah? Watch this," said Lynda and strode down the aisle towards the stage.

"Good work, Spike!" said Kenny, holding his hand up. Spike slapped it, pleased with himself. Lynda got up on stage and launched herself into the speech she had chosen to perform.

"Excellent, Lynda!" said Mr Sullivan. Feeling quite proud of herself, Lynda sat down next to Spike.

"So, what'd ya think of that?" she asked in Valley Girl American. Spike looked horrified.

"You sounded just like this girl I knew back home then," he said, quickly surpressing the guilty feeling he occasionally got when thinking about Zoe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The next day, everyone was hard at work in the Junior Gazette newsroom. Lynda had a pile of editing to get through but found herself thinking more and more about the kissing scene between Romeo and Juliet. What if she got in and Spike didn't? She would have to kiss some KD from school. And she couldn't drop out now. But what if, like he said, Spike got in and he got to kiss another girl? Lynda was determined to fight her way past that later, and went back to typing up the editorial. Just then, Colin Mathews entered the room and asked Lynda if he could make an announcement.

"If this is one of your promotional scams, Colin . . ." she said warningly. "Don't think I've forgotten the Quila incident."

Colin rubbed the top of his lip self-consciously. "No, no, it's inside information on the cast for the school play. I just happened to be in the school's office when Mrs McGuigan was typing out the list. And, being the kind soul I am, I offered to help her with some filing and photocopying. But I accidentally photocopied the wrong bit of paper!" He gave her that "Aren't I silly?" Colin expression. "But if you don't want to hear it, well . . ."

"Don't be an idiot, Colin. Read it out."

"Knew you'd see it my way, kid. Alright then. Folks, if I could have your attention please?" Everyone gathered around, expectantly. Colin loved to work an audience and was very adept at doing so. Finally, after much lead-up and introduction and a solid nudge from Lynda's elbow, he cut to the chase. "The Junior Gazette is being represented well in this year's school play. We have Kenny Phillips as Lord Capulet, Sarah Jackson as Juliet's nurse, yours truly as Romeo's cousin Mercutio and our very star-crossed lovers, Spike and Lynda, as Romeo and Juliet!" The newsroom cheered, clapped and whistled. Spike leapt over Lynda's desk and caught her up in a kiss.

"Spike! What the hell are you doing!" she exclaimed, blushing furiously and pushing him violently away.

"Just rehearsing, Juliet dear!" he replied, narrowly missing crashing through the windows of the meeting room. Lynda groaned and sank back down into her chair.

"What have I got myself into . . . ?"

The official cast announcement was made during school assembly the following day. When Mr Sullivan read out the two leads, there were gasps, murmurs and giggles from the assembled students. Lynda groaned. She seemed to be doing a lot of groaning these days.

"I knew it. This was a terrible idea," she hissed to Sarah who was sitting next to her.

"Come on, Lynda. Surely you're not worried about a bunch of first-formers having a giggle?" asked Sarah.

"I think I'll go and talk to Sullivan about dropping out. I mean – the paper –"

"Will be fine," interrupted Sarah. "Look, if anything, it will be good for the Junior Gazette. We've got people on the inside, we can bring blow-by-blow accounts of how it's all coming together. Great feature column. And you have to face it, Lynda, the leading man draws an audience!" She pointed over to the door of the assembly hall where a group of admiring girls had gathered around Spike, who was happily basking in the attention, sunglasses on. Lynda snorted.

"Terrific. Why don't we change the name of the paper to Spike Weekly and be done with it?"

"Well, I think it will get approval from Spike," said Kenny, joining them. "Might be a little harder to get Matt Kerr on board though!" Meanwhile, Spike had detached himself with some difficulty from his band of groupies and sauntered over to them.

"Hey, fellow Veronians," he said. "Lynda, glad you're here. I want your opinion on one of our scenes together. Well, it's a technical issue and I just wanted to know how you felt about it, where you stood, what you thought would really play out well on stage – "

"Spike, what?" snapped Lynda.

"Okay, here it is." He paused. "Tongue or no?"

Kenny snorted and Sarah fought hard to keep from smirking. Lynda, however, smiled sweetly at Spike.

"Oh, tongue. Definitely tongue," she replied.

"Really?" Spike was shocked. He had only been winding her up, of course, but a man had to take what he could get with Ms Day!

"Yes. Your tongue, staple gun, my wall." With that, Lynda flounced out of the assembly hall. Spike recovered quickly.

"You guys are all witnesses. She said tongue!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

After a week or so, Lynda was relieved to notice the newsroom has settled down and returned to normal. Well, as normal as a place could be when you had someone like Colin Matthews working for you, she thought, as Colin entered pushing a movable clothing rack hung with suit bags.

"Own funds, Colin?" she asked as he made his way through the newsroom towards his office/storeroom.

"Lynda!" Colin looked hurt, an expression he had worked particularly hard at and was very good at achieving. "These are costumes for the play. Frazz's uncle from the costume shop has loaned them to us."

"Already?" Lynda asked. "Colin, the play isn't for two months. Why do we need the costumes now?"

"Ask me no questions, Lynda . . ." Colin sailed grandly into his office and shut the door. Lynda distinctly heard the "snick" of the lock being engaged and was on her way over to investigate when Kenny called from the main door.

"Lynda, are you coming?" he asked. Sarah was standing with him.

"Where?" Lynda asked, distractedly, eyes still fixed on Colin's locked office door.

"First rehearsal! Come on, Lynda, I can't be your conscience and your diary as well," replied Kenny good-naturedly, as only Kenny could.

"Rehearsal. Right." Lynda dashed over to her desk and began rifling through it.

"Looking for this?" asked Kenny, waving her copy of the script.

"Shut up, Kenny," said Lynda, grabbing her script from him and pushing through the double doors. "Hurry up, we'll be late." She marched down the hall to the outer doors.

"Hurry up, Kenny. We'll be late," repeated Sarah wryly to Kenny and they walked out together. Lynda had blazed on ahead.

"So how often have you had to persuade Lynda not to chuck this play?" Kenny asked.

"At last count, 17. You?"

"23, including having to convince her she didn't have any sort of long-range illness or upcoming events that would require her full attention as editor. I've even had to follow her out of class in case she sneaks off to ambush Sullivan."

"Whatever possessed her to audition in the first place?" asked Sarah. At that point, a hand clapped on each of their shoulders and a tousled head poked between theirs.

"I got one word for you, Sarah. Spike Thomson," said an American voice.

"That's two words, Spike," Sarah replied, waiting for the witty retort. She wasn't disappointed.

"It is? Maybe that's why I'm failing English. Can't make the word count in essays. But me failing English is unfair anyway. I mean, English is my second language. How come I can't take American? It's discrimination, I tell ya!" He gestured to Lynda up ahead. "She looks keen. Bet she can't wait to have me under lights, if you know what I mean!"

"Word to the wise, Spike," grinned Kenny. "If it's your aim to be kissing Lynda in front of all Norbridge on opening night, don't wind her up too much or she'll dump the play like . . ."

"James Armstrong dumped her," interjected Spike. "Kenny, I hear what you're saying. Be cool. I can do that. I wrote the book on cool. I'll bring you a copy. 'Cool – by Spike Thomson'. I'll even autograph it for you. You too, Sarah." With that, he ran ahead to catch up with Lynda.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged," Spike recited solemnly. Leaning in for the scripted kiss, he couldn't resist the urge to whisper cheekily in her ear, "Although I think this is more like your prayer coming true!"

"Get off!" Lynda pushed the puckering Spike off the wooden block they were standing on and sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Lynda!" Mr Sullivan called tiredly. "It's in the script."

"But, sir! He's being so . . . Spike!"

"I can't help it, sir," joked Spike from his position on the stage floor. "I was born this way."

"He's only following the script, Lynda, as I wish you would," Sullivan replied.

"Well, on that, sir, I have a few suggestions," Lynda said earnestly. "I really think we need to trim the fat here. There's a lot of stuff that doesn't need to be here and I think we could make it a lot more punchy."

"Ever the editor, eh?" came the voice from the back of the school hall. A tall red-headed figure came down towards the stage.

"Mr Kerr!" gasped Lynda. "What are you doing here?"

"I called over to the Junior Gazette offices to speak to you about next weeks' edition and they told me I'd find you all down here."

"Oh, Mr Kerr, I'm sorry. If you think it will interfere with the paper, I'm quite happy to . . ."

"No, no, not at all," Matt Kerr replied. "I was just going to say congratulations to you all for getting in. It's important to not lose focus on everything outside the paper, Lynda. I think this play will be good for you. All of you. In fact, I was coming to speak to you about a regular insiders' feature on the play. It seems to have already garnered a lot of interest from your schoolmates, so we should give the people what they want." He indicated the gaggle of schoolkids sitting up the back of the hall, who were ostensibly watching rehearsals but really present for the the free fireworks show created by Spike and Lynda.

"You heard the man, Lynda," said Spike, springing up. "Give the people what they want!"

"Don't you have some poison to drink?" snapped Lynda.

Mr Sullivan buried his balding head in his hands before saying tiredly, "Okay, people. From the top of this scene, please."

* * *

Colin was in trouble.

Well, Colin was usually in trouble, only the depth varied. This time, Colin was in deep trouble.

Mr Sullivan had decided it was time for a dress rehearsal and Lynda had volunteered the information that Colin had the costumes ready and waiting in his office.

"Right!" agreed Colin, brightly. "Yes, the costumes. Lovely, they are. All velvets and dubloons and things. Lovely handiwork. Beautifully made."

"Well, could you bring them along tomorrow, please, Colin," said Sullivan distractedly. It had been several weeks of rehearsals and Spike and Lynda were still to complete a scene involving a kiss without incident.

"Tomorrow?" asked Colin, nervously. "As in, the day after today?"

"That's generally when tomorrow takes place, Colin," replied Sullivan. "Is there a problem?"

"No! Not at all. Tomorrow. Costumes. Right." He jotted something down in his notebook and casually strolled out of the hall. By the time he passed the windows, he was bolting in the direction of the Junior Gazette offices.

"Frazz!" he gasped, running into the resident astrologer in the hallway. "You have to help me!"

"Do I?" asked Frazz. "What now, Colin?"

"The costumes. The ones we borrowed from your uncle for the school play."

"School play?" Frazz was not usually known for being up to date with extra-curricular school activities.

"You know, Jomeo and Ruliet!" gabbled Colin, frantically.

"Oh, right. You mean Spike & Lynda's Fight Club: The Arena Spectacular," chuckled Frazz.

"Yes, yes," Colin waved his hand distractedly. "Anyway, the costumes. Your uncle loaned them to me when the play was first announced. Very kind of him, free of charge and all . . ."

"Let me guess," said Frazz thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "You've done something with them."

"Sort of," replied Colin, guiltily. "But they're in good hands! And it was such a lucrative little deal, Frazz! Honestly! It just so happened that the Sherrington Players were doing a little Shakespeare number of their own so I gave them a good price on costume hire. You see, I didn't think we'd need them for another couple of weeks. Only now Sullivan wants them tomorrow for a dress rehearsal! What am I going to do?"

"I don't know, Colin," replied Frazz. "What's your star sign again?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Lynda paced around her small bedroom, sprinkled some fish food into Sullivan's tank and flopped onto her bed. The giant WHY? poster on her bedroom wall seemed to be lit in pulsing neon.

"Why indeed?" she said to herself, looking at the two heavily marked-up documents in front of her. One was an article on the proposed school uniform policy, the other her script for Romeo and Juliet. She paced again. Her room felt stuffy so she leant over her tights drying on the radiator, cracked the window and then recoiled in surprise at the sight of a figure standing in the back garden.

"What light through yonder window breaks?" drawled an unmistakably American accent. "It is the east, and Lynda is the sun. Hey, and your last name is Day! This can't be coincidence!"

"Why are you lurking in my back garden?" asked Lynda bluntly.

"Lurking? I was hardly lurking," said Spike as he casually began climbing up to her window. "Skulking maybe, but lurking, no." He hauled himself through the window into her room. "I'm getting pretty good at that. 'With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out' "

"What's wrong with the front door?" Lynda turned her back and pretended to feed Sullivan again.

"You might not have let me in," replied Spike, sprawling on the bed.

"I might not have let you in the window either," replied Lynda.

"It was a calculated risk," grinned Spike. "I figured I could fake a massive injury and gain entrance to your place by way of your extremely concerned parents."

"My parents are out," replied Lynda and immediately wished she hadn't. Spike smirked.

"Well, well, well. No wonder you let me in," he said.

"Is there something you wanted, Spike, besides to annoy me with your childish smut?" Lynda felt the familiar aggravation rising, yet strangely she didn't particularly want him to leave her alone with her pacing. Spike rose from the bed, smiled, then dropped alarmingly to one knee.

"Hic! What are you doing?" squeaked Lynda, as Spike withdrew a small velvet-covered box from the pocket of his leather jacket.

"Lynda Day . . ." said Spike, solemnly, "Will you do me the honour of . . ."

"Hic! Hic! Hic!" Lynda gasped frantically, falling into her chair.

"Lynda?"

'Hic! Hic! Hic!" Was this a panic attack? Spike wasn't sure but he knew he had to act. Casting his eyes frantically around the room, he plunged his cupped hands into Sullivan's fish tank and threw water onto Lynda's face.

Lynda shrieked. The hiccuping stopped immediately and was replaced by a look of pure fury. Spike was relieved. Fury meant normal where Lynda Day was concerned.

"Hey, I'm sorry, Lynda," he said, grabbing her towel which was hanging from the back of her door and handing it to her. "You had me worried there for a minute."

"I had you worried? What were you doing with that box?" asked Lynda.

"Oh," Spike looked sheepish and handed it to her. She opened it. Inside was a simple white gold wedding band.

"Spike, what is this?"

"It was my mom's. I was going to ask you to wear it. For the play, I mean. My dad gave me his. I thought it would be kind of cool to present it to you properly before the dress rehearsal. So, how about it, Boss? Will you wear my ring?"

Lynda slipped the ring onto her wedding finger. It was a perfect fit, which was unusual for her. Spike's mother must have had similarly slender fingers.

"You know what, Spike, this is really nice," she said. "I'd love to use it for the play. Thank you."

"O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering-sweet to be substantial." Spike clapped his hands together and made for the window.

"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it be morrow," replied Lynda good-naturedly as Spike hauled himself out of the window and made his way down to the ground.

"Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, his help to crave, and my dear hap to tell." Spike said to himself, grinning as he made his way out of the Day's garden.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Frazz was waiting in Czar's, sipping a very flat glass of Coke. Finally, Colin arrived and slunk into his booth, dressed in black, complete with beanie, gloves, a torch and a large sack.

"Nice one, Colin," he said. "Why not paint a large pound sign on the sack to make it look a little less suspicious?"

"Do I look suspicious?" asked Colin in surprise. "Is this better?" He pulled down the beanie over his face to reveal cut-outs for his eyes and mouth.

"Much better," said Frazz. "How are we getting to Sherrington, anyway?"

"Ah! Don't worry about that, Frazz. All taken care of," said Colin brightly. They made their way outside. Leaning up against the wall of Czar's was a tandem bicycle.

"Please be joking," said Frazz.

"What? You don't think . . ."

"No. I don't. Looks like CM Enterprises will be funding us a cab ride to Sherrington and back." Frazz stepped off the footpath and hailed a black cab that was passing by.

"Well, if you feel that strongly about it," muttered Colin. "I suppose I can write it off to expenses."

The short trip to Sherrington was not made any easier for Frazz with Colin twitching nervously next to him in the back seat. Finally, they reached the small community theatre which housed the Sherrington Players and got out.

"3 pound 50," said the cab driver. Colin painstakingly counted out the correct fare and handed it through the window.

"Could I have a receipt please?" he asked. The driver snorted in disgust and drove off. "Must not have heard me," he remarked to Frazz, who was shaking his head. His stars for the week certainly hadn't mentioned any involvement in a crazy scheme like this one.

They walked around to the back of the building where, fortunately, someone had left a bathroom window open. Scrambling through, they crept through the darkened theatre until they had located the storage room and the rack of costumes still in suit bags. Stuffing them into Colin's suspicious sack, they made a quick exit through the same window and then made their way towards the Sherrington High Street to hail a cab back to Norbridge.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Colin, brightly.

"Remarkably, no," replied Frazz. "But when do the Sherrington Players need them back?"

"They're not on until the weekend. Plenty of time," said Colin. "I phoned them to make sure. It's all come together quite nicely. I knew it would, of course."

"Of course," said Frazz, looking for a cab.

"You know, Frazz, we could start walking towards Norbridge and cut down on the fare . . ." began Colin.

"Taxi!" Frazz shouted as one passed by.

"Or we could just get it here," said Colin, making a mental note to ask the driver loudly and clearly for a receipt this time.

The next day, the whole cast of the school play were gathered around, excited about the prospect of getting to try their costumes on for the first time. Colin had appropriated another movable clothes rack and hung all the costumes on it, wheeling it out ostentatiously from his office, making sure Lynda saw him doing it. It now stood next to Mr Sullivan who was about to start opening them and handing them out to various cast members.

"Okay! Let's see what we have in here," said Sullivan, selecting the first of the suit bags from the rack. Everyone craned forward eagerly as he pulled out a shiny silver jumpsuit with astronaut patches on it.

"Er, don't think this is one of ours," he said jovially and reached for the next one. It contained a clown suit, complete with pom poms and oversized shoes. Puzzled, he began opening all of the bags. A white PVC nurses uniform. A crocodile. A magician costume. A policeman's outfit. A pink rabbit suit. Nothing remotely Shakespearian among them.

"Colin? There seems to be a bit of a mix-up with the – Colin?"

All eyes turned to the windows where, once again, the figure of Colin Matthews could be seen racing frantically.

"Why that guy isn't on the running team, I don't know," quipped Spike. "He's a natural!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Anthrax?" asked Molly Jamieson breathlessly. To think! Real-life drama in Sherrington! Why, it was better than the afternoon soaps.

"Yes, yes, terrible thing," Colin said loftily. "Absolutely fatal, not to mention deadly."

"But how could anthrax have come in contact with the costumes?" She peered over the top of her half-moon glasses at the contamination-suited Colin, complete with a large bag with a radioactive symbol on it.

"Oh, well, any number of ways," replied Colin breezily. "Now, if I could just isolate the garments . . ."

"You don't suppose it could be . . . sabotage, do you?" Molly asked, in the same breathless fashion. "There's always been bad blood between us and the Macton Amateur Dramatics Society since we both wanted to put on The Sound Of Music at the same time. You don't think they could have . . . And then there's the fancy dress costumes that have gone missing as well! My stars! What is happening here?" She flopped dramatically into her chair and fanned herself with an old programme.

"Well, anything is possible, Ms Jamieson," said Colin politely. "Now, if I could please just . . ."

"I'll jolly well ring that Simon Goodfellow up in Macton and ask him what his amateurs are playing at!" said Molly, spurred into action. She reached towards the telephone. Colin seized his chance and headed towards the storage area. This time, he unzipped and inspected the contents of the suit bags hanging on racks before making the swap.

Wheeling the clothes rack past the office door, he heard Molly delivering a piece of her somewhat addled mind to the unfortunate and innocent Simon Goodfellow of the Macton Amateur Dramatics Society.

"And as for your so-called star, Raymond Adams, I've seen picket fences that are less wooden!"

Colin was feeling unusually magnanimous now that he had the right costumes firmly in his grasp and tapped on the door. Molly covered the phone and looked up at him expectantly, eyes ablaze with the thrill of the drama.

"Ms Jamieson? I have all of the suspected contaminated garments now. Nothing to worry about. There are some other costumes hanging behind the door in the storage area. I don't suppose they are the ones you are missing?" With that, Colin sailed out of the Sherrington community theatre and loaded the costumes into a waiting mini-van.

"Thanks for picking me up, Uncle," he said. "I'll make it worth your while. How much do you think I should charge for decontaminating these costumes?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Things were finally starting to come together, thought Sullivan. He still found himself in the role of bomb disposal expert but was becoming adept at diffusing the exchanges between Spike and Lynda.

Sarah's weekly "Inside Verona" feature on the play in the Junior Gazette was hugely popular, so much so that the group of schoolkids who had gathered to watch the early rehearsals had been removed a few weeks prior after their numbers had swelled and constant giggling and whistling had disrupted performers. Some faces could still be seen pressed against the windows until Lynda threatened to print each person's secret crush in the next edition of the Junior Gazette.

Kenny was also enjoying playing two roles; the first his part in the play, the second as Lynda's cattle prod.

"Kenny, I've got to go and read that piece on the interschool sports day," she had said to him that afternoon. "I'm afraid I won't make it to rehearsal."

"It's already read," grinned Kenny. "In fact, we printed it last week."

"Oh. Well, I really think Stacey should have a chance to practice. As understudy, she should really be prepared in case . . ."

"Stacey?" mused Kenny. "Is that the blonde girl I saw Spike chatting to backstage? They looked pretty comfortable working together."

"Oh, they did, did they?" asked Lynda.

"Yeah, I saw her write something on his hand. Probably a reminder note, you know, 'remember maths homework', 'get milk', 'breathe', something like that," Kenny grinned.

"I'll give him something he won't forget in a hurry," spat Lynda. "Then I'll sign the cast as a reminder!"

"Right, then!" Sullivan called the cast together after that day's rehearsal. "Looks like we should have the right costumes now after yesterday's mix-up. How about a round of applause for Colin, everyone, for getting it sorted so promptly?"

Everyone clapped politely and Colin waved and bowed modestly.

"A bit of a shame," murmured Spike to Lynda. "I think you would have pulled off that nurse's uniform nicely."

"I know what I'd like to pull off," muttered Lynda grimly.

Sullivan began opening the bags to reveal the rich velvets and silk embroidered costumes to "oohs" and "aahs" of the assembled cast.

"Ah, Spike, this one is for you," he said, passing over a bag. Spike had a quick look and chuckled.

"I think you're the one that's got it mixed up this time, sir," he said. "This one's got tights in it."

"That's right, Spike," said Mr Sullivan with a remarkably straight face. "You didn't think they got around in jeans and leather jackets in Shakespeare's Verona, did you?"

"Ah, no, sir, but I didn't think they wore girls' underwear either!" Spike looked unusually nervous. Working for the Junior Gazette and getting bossed around by Lynda Day was one thing. Wearing tights on stage was quite another!

"And another thing, Spike, we'll have to sort out your make-up," Sullivan added. "Go and see Julie after rehearsals and she'll help you."

"Make-up?" Spike was aghast. This was all getting a bit much. But he had worked so hard, and of course, he really, really wanted to kiss Lynda! He quickly weighed up his options, calculated his odds of winning in a fight against most of the likely suspects and made his decision.

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to Lynda. "Am I a summer or a spring?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Weeks later, as opening night drew near, Spike was summoned to the office of Mr Sullivan over the PA system. Spike was well-used to summonses of this nature and had a plan of attack formulated by the time he got to the office of the deputy headmaster. Attack is the best form of defence, he reminded himself. And that cooker, well, it was faulty anyway! Everyone knew that, that's why they avoided it in Home Ec.

"Mr Sullivan, sir, I just want to say, before you say anything, you're doing a great job of directing the school play. I mean, I know it can't be easy what with Lynda and Colin and all. You're probably under terrible strain . . ."

"Relax, Spike," said Sullivan wryly. "You're not in trouble."

"Hey, great!" Spike was relieved. "I mean, not that I've done anything anyway."

"Quite," replied Sullivan. "Actually, I was hoping you might know where Lynda is. She didn't return to class after lunch. Any ideas?"

Spike thought. "Well, sir, I do have a hunch. Only it would mean leaving the school, sir. Much as I hate to miss out on my biology lesson, and we are classifying ants today, I'm willing to make that sacrifice to help you out."

"Thank you, Spike. Your service to the school is appreciated," replied Sullivan dryly. He filled out a permission slip and handed it across the desk. "Take this back to your teacher. You're on an errand for me."

"No problem, sir. I guarantee I'll bring Lynda back to you. Dead or alive!" Spike pocketed the note and dashed out of the office.

"Well, preferably the latter, if you can manage it, Spike," said Sullivan to himself.

Spike hadn't been lying when he said he had a hunch where Lynda might be. He did. He knew the "what", just not the "where" exactly. Heading down Norbridge High Street, he started poking his head into dress shops. He had investigated three before he caught sight of a curly-haired brunette going into the changerooms with an armload of clothing. As she pulled the curtain closed behind her, he pulled it open again and went inside.

"Spike, you have to stop doing that. One day I will actually be getting changed," said Lynda.

"I live in hope," grinned Spike. "So, Lynda. Dress shops again. I thought we were over this whole taller thing? Like I keep telling you, higher heels, shorter skirts. It works for me."

Lynda answered by slumping forward and burying her head in her hands.

"Hey, what's up?" Spike asked.

"Hic!" was the only response.

"Oh, I get it. The play. You're nervous about opening night."

"Hic!"

"Look, Lynda. If you really don't want to do it, you don't have to," said Spike gently.

"But I'll be letting everyone down!" came the muffled reply from between her fingers.

"No, no, it will be fine. I mean, Stacey's a great actress. I'm talking really great. We've been having a few private rehearsals and I'm telling you . . ."

"You what?" Lynda's head flew up.

"Private rehearsals. With Stacey. You know, I kind of figured something like this would happen so I wanted to make sure she was, you know, prepared. And boy, is she!" he grinned. "As a matter of fact, Sullivan is letting us have another one when I get back to school."

"No, he's not," replied Lynda, getting up.

"What do you mean?" asked Spike, with a pretended look of puzzlement on his face. "I mean, if you're going to be out, she needs all the rehearsal she can get."

"Well, she can rehearse over my dead body," retorted Lynda. "Come on, we're going back to school. If Sullivan can give you time off for a rehearsal, he can give it to me as well." She pushed past Spike and out of the change room. Spike grinned at his reflection in the mirror.

"Almost too easy, wasn't it?" he asked his mirror self, who winked back at him.

"Hurry up, Spike, we're wasting time!" Lynda called over her shoulder from the front of the shop.

"And you're looking particularly handsome today," Spike added to himself. "What a day!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The cast members responsible for keeping Lynda on board (namely Spike, Sarah and Kenny) were suddenly finding their role a lot easier thanks to the undeniably attractive understudy, Stacey Smithson. Lynda was determined not to miss a single second of rehearsal and kept an eagle eye on Spike, lest he slip off for some extra-curricular "practice"!

Spike characteristically decided to use this to his advantage and strolled over to the editor's desk. Instead of perching on it or leaning into her space, he waited deferentially yet closely nearby, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Being Lynda, she naturally reviewed the document she was working on twice, added some punctuation, crossed things out, re-wrote them and signed her name unnecessarily at the end before looking up.

"Lynda. Are you free tonight?"

"No, I charge," retorted Lynda. "Spike, for possibly the nine hundredth and ninety-ninth time, I'm not going out with you! Why do you persist in asking?"

"I'm waiting to see what happens when I hit 1000," replied Spike. "Maybe it will be like Disneyland, and you'll let me in free." Lynda glared. "I didn't mean it like that!" he added hastily. "And I'm not asking you out either, strictly speaking. I wondered if you were free for a bit of rehearsal."

"Oh," said Lynda, surprised. "Am I, Kenny?"

"Yes," replied Kenny, not looking up from his work.

"Great. I'll pick you up at 7," said Spike and beat a hasty retreat.

"Pick me up?" Lynda asked to his back. "Spike, this had better not be a date!"

"See you at 7! Dress . . . co-ordinated!" he called from the double doors and departed.

"What is he up to?" demanded Lynda of Kenny.

"No idea!" replied Kenny and bent his head back down to his work to hide his grin. You had to hand it to Spike for sheer determination and inventiveness!

That evening, as promised, Spike entered the garden gate of the Day house at promptly 7pm and was surprised to find Lynda waiting in the garden.

"So eager you couldn't wait for me to ring the doorbell?" he asked.

"No, I just didn't want you to think you were 'picking me up'," replied Lynda, pushing past him out of the gate. "Come on!"

"Where are we going?" asked Spike cheerfully.

"I don't know. This was your idea!" replied Lynda.

"That's right, it was. I almost forgot," said Spike. "We're going to rehearse together."

"So this wasn't just a lame excuse to get me to go out with you?" Lynda asked, confused.

"How could you think that?" Spike adopted an injured look.

"How could I not?" countered Lynda.

"I notice you're coming anyway," remarked Spike cheekily. Lynda gaped and made to turn back through the gate. Spike caught her arm. "Only joking, Lynda. I promise you, this evening is strictly play-related. Come on."

They walked down to the Norbridge High Street. Spike stopped in front of the Astor Cinema.

"Here we are," he said.

"I knew it!" Lynda fumed. "That's it! I'm going home!"

"Relax, Lynda!" Spike turned to the bored girl in the ticket booth. "Two for Romeo and Juliet, please."

Lynda gaped again.

"I love this cinema," said Spike, handing her a ticket. "Shows some great old movies. This is the 1936 version. It's got Leslie Howard and John Barrymore in it."

"You watch old films?" Lynda couldn't hide her astonishment.

"Sure. I like all the classics. Police Academy, Rocky, Rambo," Spike ushered her into the theatre. "Popcorn?"

"No. Er, yes. Thank you," Lynda was too astounded to even think straight.

"Don't worry," grinned Spike. "I'll get us a box each. I don't fancy accidentally brushing your hand and ending up with the entire box on my head!"

They took their seats inside the darkened cinema and the movie soon began. Lynda watched Spike from the corner of her eye. He seemed to be studying the film quite intently and occasionally even mouthed the lines along with the actors. She had to hand it to him, this was a terrific idea. And most importantly, he wasn't trying to wind her up.

When the movie ended and the lights came up, Spike couldn't resist doing the cliched yawn, stretch and arm behind Lynda's seat.

"Bit late now, Spike," she teased as she stood up.

"Well, I was thinking of staying here like this until the next session," Spike replied. "See if I can't do better!"

Unfortunately for Spike, he didn't fulfill his wish to escape the evening without a popcorn box overturned on his head. Unfortunately for Lynda, the box was empty!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Julie was pleased with the results of her hard work on a special graphics project. She had laboured over it as hard as she would for any Junior Gazette centre spread, with the added bonus of it not needing approval from Lynda! She had stayed behind after most of the news team had left for the day, ensuring she could work without interruption. Best of all, Lynda was out rehearsing with Spike so there was no chance of being caught using Junior Gazette materials for unrelated work! Humming to herself, Julie put the finishing touches to the piece and sat back to look at it.

"Colin?" she called. Emerging from his office, Colin came into the graphics room, idly toying with the head of one of his knife-sheath teddy bears.

"What do you think? Did I get it right?" she asked.

"It's great, Julie. Total Playsville. Seriously, I'm talking Shakespeare City," said Colin. "We'll scale it down for the programme and people can get them signed after the show!" For a fee, of course, he thought. If only Sullivan hadn't baulked at the idea of a structured ticketing system. For a small margin, CM Enterprises had been willing to take on the ticket concession and Colin had devised grand plans including VIP seating and backstage access-all-areas passes, priced accordingly. The play was going to be wildly popular and it seemed such a waste to have a flat 2 pound entrance fee. It was practically a charity performance! Colin hated to think of the lack of profit margin.

"Colin, are you sure Lynda is okay with this?" Julie asked, dragging his thoughts momentarily away from the pursuit of pounds. "I haven't forgotten the serve I got for doing that Gaz poster for you. My ears still have blisters!"

Colin didn't reply but made a strangled yelping sound before exiting stage left at great haste. Julie leaned out to try and see what caused his rapid departure and nearly fell off her stool when Lynda appeared in the doorway.

"Julie, what are you doing here so late?" she asked.

"Lynda!" exclaimed Julie guiltily. "Er, nothing. Just a draft for the centre spread." She tried to cover it with a sheet of blank paper. "Just something I was playing around with. It's rubbish. Don't worry about it. Really. I thought you were out with Spike?"

"I was not 'out' with Spike and let me see," said Lynda in her patented 'I'm telling, not asking you' tone of voice. Julie sighed.

"I just want you to know, it was Colin's idea," she said resignedly.

"It usually is," replied Lynda and removed the covering piece of paper.

Revealed was a lavish poster, featuring an illustration of the balcony scene with "Romeo & Juliet" in elaborate script across the top. Star-shaped inset pictures of Spike and Lynda were lower down, with "Starring Norbridge High's Own Star-Crossed Lovers!" in similar script along the bottom. Below this were the date and venue details.

" 'A joint presentation of Norbridge High and CM Enterprises'?" Lynda asked.

"It was Colin's idea," repeated Julie, desperately. She had worked so hard on the poster, and now Lynda was about to run a red marker through it.

"Take out the 'star-crossed lovers' part and change my photo so I don't look as though I've been slapped with a wet fish," said Lynda crisply.

"What?" asked Julie in disbelief.

"Julie, you know how I feel about repeating myself," replied Lynda.

"You mean, that's it?"

"That's it," said Lynda and left the newsroom. Julie sat stunned for a moment before starting to peel off the "star-crossed lovers" script. Colin returned once the coast was clear.

"Told you she was okay with it!" he said brightly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Spike looked at himself in the mirror. This was not unusual practice for Spike, who took his role as "Handsome Rebel" very seriously. What was unusual was that Spike was wearing a burgundy-coloured velvet tunic, tights and a floppy hat.

"It's gonna be hard making this look good," he said to himself. "But, hey! We love a challenge!"

He struck various poses before experimenting with the look by adding his signature sunglasses, leather jacket and American flag trainers.

"Now you just look weird," he told his reflection. He tossed the jacket back on the bed and kicked off the trainers. Reassessing his reflection, he removed the sunglasses as well and looked thoughtfully at his stockinged feet.

"Now I know what girls mean when they talk about matching shoes!" he said. "I don't have anything that goes with velvet!"

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Should I try for some facial hair? Or is Romeo a clean-shaven kind of guy?" He peered closely into the mirror. "No. Why try and cover up perfection!"

There was a tap at the closed door of his bedroom.

"Dad, I'm going to open the door but I don't want you to be alarmed, okay?" Spike called. "I'm still your son and I still like football, cars and girls!" He leapt over the bed and opened the door with a flourish.

"Anyone I know?" asked Lynda, dryly.

"You know, I really gotta get Dad to start announcing my visitors," said Spike. "One day, you're going to catch me in a really awkward situation!" He bounced onto his bed, silently congratulating himself for having rounded up all stray underwear that morning. "So what can I do for you, Lynda? Back for another round of Trivial Pursuit? Or perhaps you've come to pick unpopped kernels out of my hair?"

"Actually, I came to apologise," replied Lynda.

Spike did an exaggerated double-take. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you properly." He sat up, removed his floppy hat and cupped a hand over his ear. "Please say it again, speaking loudly and clearly, so the recording mike can pick it up."

"You heard, Spike," said Lynda, taking a seat at his desk. "I'm sorry about the popcorn box."

"Hey, I like salt in my hair," replied Spike. "It gives it a really good texture, makes it easier to style. And I like those little unpopped kernels too. Chewy. What is it about those things that make you eat them, even though you know they're going to get stuck in your teeth?"

Lynda pressed on, undaunted. "And I'm sorry I didn't say thank you for taking me to the movie."

"I'm not sure about that," replied Spike. "It was a bit hard to hear with the box on my head, but I definitely heard two words and the second one was definitely 'you'!" Lynda laughed in spite of herself.

"I really liked the movie, Spike. It was a great idea to go and see it," she said.

"You know, there are other movies . . ." began Spike.

"Don't push it, Thomson," replied Lynda immediately. Spike grinned and shrugged as if to say, "Can't blame a guy for trying!"

"So, nervous about opening night?" Spike asked.

"Hic!" replied Lynda, involuntarily.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Spike. "Lynda, don't worry. You'll be fine. I don't know why you haven't got involved before. You're a terrific actress. Really."

"You're not too bad yourself," said Lynda, grudgingly.

There was an awkward silence and both looked uneasily around the room for something to steer the conversation onto easier ground.

"Well, I had better go," Lynda said, eventually. "Your Dad will start thinking something funny is going on between us if I keep showing up at night around here!" she said.

"You could always come in by the window," suggested Spike.

"You don't have a window!" replied Lynda.

"Would you let that stop you?" teased Spike. Lynda rolled her eyes.

"One more thing, Spike," she said.

"What?"

"Nice tights!" With that, she left the room and closed the door behind her.

"At least mine match my top," murmured Spike wickedly to himself.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Oh, Sarah," said Lynda vaguely as she passed the editor's desk. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What?" asked Sarah.

"I can't remember. Do you know what it might have been?" Lynda was definitely distracted lately.

"Er, no," Sarah replied. "Should I?"

"I don't know. Should Sarah know what I wanted to talk to her about?" Lynda directed her question to Kenny opposite.

"No," replied Kenny.

"Should I know?" asked Lynda.

"Yes," said Kenny.

"Well, can you help me out a little, Kenny? What kind of assistant editor are you?"

"A long-suffering one," muttered Kenny under his breath and then aloud, "The play thing Kerr was talking about in the meeting."

"Oh, right. The pieces you're doing on the school play," said Lynda to Sarah.

"What's wrong with them?" Sarah asked immediately. Lynda looked surprised. Why did people always assume the worst when she asked to speak to them about work?

"Nothing," she replied. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Kerr thinks they're so good, they should be a regular feature."

"Oh!" Sarah was surprised. "But how can it be a regular feature after the play is over?"

"That's just it," said Lynda. "We were thinking of doing a theatre review column. There's so much happening in the area and if you wanted to, you could cover them. Sherrington, Macton – they're even doing 'An Inspector Calls' here in Norbridge soon."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to do it?" asked Sarah mischeviously. "I mean, after that review of last year's school play you wrote in 'Norbridge Days', I think you'd be more than qualified. And how is Ms Stanners these days? Still in therapy?"

Lynda shrugged. "I called it as I saw it. Journalistic integrity. The play was completely dire. I would expect you to do the same if you saw a production that stunk as bad as that one did."

Sarah laughed. "I promise you I will provide completely honest, completely fearless reviews," she said. "So, 'An Inspector Calls'? Hopefully the local community centre can interpret it to my liking! But who's going to review Romeo and Juliet, seeing as I'm in it as well? I mean, I could whip up a glowing review right now but it hardly seems ethical . . ."

"I don't know, Tiddler or someone," Lynda waved her hand distractedly towards the news team. "So you're in?"

"I'm in," replied Sarah.

"Great. Now, there was something else – oh, yes. About this week's lead . . ."

"Yes?" Sarah asked, pleased. She had put a lot of effort into the article about the school's recycling program. This new, slightly distracted Lynda seemed to be a definite improvement on the old model!

"It's rubbish. And I don't mean recyclable waste. I want it rewritten, 100 words longer and on my desk by the morning." Suddenly, Lynda didn't seem quite so distracted.

"Yes, Lynda," replied Sarah. "Knew it was too good to last," she sighed on the way back to her desk.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

It was the day before opening night. To say Lynda was somewhat on edge was like saying Frazz was somewhat relaxed or Colin somewhat dodgy.

"I'm worried about her, Spike," confided Kenny in the corridor of the newsroom. "She's been sitting at her desk all morning, staring into space, biting her pens, her nails and the head off of anyone who goes near her."

"Wow, that is unusual," replied Spike. "Lynda never bites her nails!"

"Help her out, Spike. Take her mind off it," pleaded Kenny. "By fair means or foul!"

"For you, Kenny, anything!" Spike clapped him on the back and entered the newsroom.

"Good morning, ladies!" he called in a deliberately louder tone of voice than normal. "On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the sexiest . . . ah, why waste time? Let's just say I'm a permanent 10 and be done with it!"

This announcement seemed to snap the editor out of her reverie.

"Spike, how is that story on the furniture contract coming along?" she asked abruptly.

"Sofa, so good!" quipped Spike. "Wow, what a night I've had. I'm sure I got a place in a hall of fame somewhere." He yawned and plunked into his chair. "I was doing some serious furniture-related research. You know, armchair, table, bed . . ."

"Spike, can I see you in here?" Lynda was on her feet and, already taking yes for an answer, moving towards the meeting room.

"But the light is so much better in here!" joked Spike to his audience. Lynda stalked to the door and held it open. "Okay, okay. I'm coming."

After drawing the blinds to hoots and whistles from the news team, Lynda paced furiously inside the room.

"Hey, slow down, Boss. There's only a 100,000 mile warranty on that carpet," said Spike. Lynda sat suddenly down at the table. Spike pushed a tin of writing implements towards her.

"Pencil?" he asked. "Calm those nerves?"

Before she even realised what she was doing, Lynda had plucked a pencil from the tin and snapped it in half. She looked down at the fractured pieces in dismay before burying her face in her hands.

"Boss, you gotta relax," he said. "Why did you call me in here anyway? Well, I know why," he smirked, "but you're such a professional! I was sure you wouldn't be thinking of anything like that during work hours! But I'm happy to be wrong."

"What?" Lynda's head shot up.

"All I'm saying is, you're only human," replied Spike.

"Is that what you – if that's what . . ." Lynda spluttered with fury.

"Why else would you pull the blinds down?" asked Spike.

"Spike! I wanted to ask you a very serious, important, work-related question! That's all! Nothing else! There never will be anything else! So please get your mind out of the gutter for once and concentrate on what I was going to ask you!"

"Okay, okay!" Spike held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "What was this serious, important, work-related question you needed to ask me? Here in the meeting room? With the blinds down?"

Lynda stared at him blankly for a moment and then spat "Get out!"

"What?"

"Get out!" Lynda leapt to her feet and stormed out of the room.

"Or you could," said Spike to himself.

Lynda stomped back to her desk and began savagely typing the editorial. What had she been doing all morning? Day-dreaming? There was no time to waste. Her mind was clear again and her words began to flow as they normally did when she was in what Colin called "the Zone". Ugh, Colin! She typed even harder.

Spike emerged from the meeting room, and motioned for Kenny to join him outside.

"Nice work, Spike. I owe you one," said Kenny once they were outside. "You really know how to push her buttons!"

"I wouldn't mind pushing some of her other buttons," replied Spike, winking lavisciously at Kenny. Kenny just grinned, shook his head and wondered if all Americans were as confident and determined as Spike Thomson. Maybe he would benefit from a trip State-side. Or even further afield. Africa, Australia. Something to think about, anyway.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The curtain rose slowly to reveal the Norbridge High school hall packed to capacity. Bright lights shone onto the stage. Suddenly, the audience began to laugh and point. The giggles and shrieks filled the room. Lynda looked down at the front row. Matt Kerr and her parents were there. So were Kenny and Sarah. Danny was taking photographs. Chrissie Stuart was taking notes. Colin was taking money from people. Nothing unusual there, at least. Then she noticed Spike, also in the front row, laughing and pointing with the rest of the audience.

"Spike! What are you doing down there?" she asked. "You're supposed to be up here with me!"

"Oh, didn't Sullivan tell you? It's a one-woman show now," replied Spike, casually. "And Lynda, I must say, you're all woman!"

"Spike, are you mad?" snapped Lynda angrily. "I can't do this without you!"

"I don't think it's me you should be missing the most right now, Lynda," said Spike maddeningly.

"Really? And just what is it I'm missing?" retorted Lynda. "A brain, for ever having become involved in this play in the first place?"

"No. Your clothes," he smirked.

Lynda looked down and realised, with horror, she was completely and utterly naked. Grabbing at the nearest thing to hand, she pulled the curtain down to cover herself. It came crashing down, pinning her to the floor, suffocating her . . .

Gasping for breath, Lynda awoke, with her head still buried beneath her duvet. Panicking, she flung it off and leapt out of bed.

"Lynda? Are you all right?" Lynda's mother tapped at her door before entering the room.

"I'm fine," said Lynda, leaning against her wardrobe, still breathing heavily. "Just a bad dream."

"Don't worry too much about tomorrow night, dear," said Mrs Day soothingly, with a mother's inerring instict of knowing what was troubling her daughter. "You know what they say, 'It'll be alright on the night!'"

"They also say 'whatever can go wrong, will go wrong'," muttered Lynda, climbing back into bed and pulling the duvet up to her waist.

"Don't you want the duvet up a bit further, dear?" asked Mrs Day. "It's a bit chilly . . ."

"No, it's fine!" replied Lynda hastily.

Across town, Spike was also asleep with opening night on his mind. The play had been a great success. Hand-in-hand, he and Lynda were taking their final curtain calls.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" chanted the audience.

"How about it, Thomson?" Lynda asked, with a very fetching cheeky smile on her face. "Want to give the people what they want?"

"Well, I'm never one to disappoint my fans," Spike replied and leaned in, closing his eyes. The kiss was perfect, brilliant, everything a kiss with Lynda should be except her hair kept tickling the top of his lips. He could hear the audience whooping and hollering. He was actually a little surprised she was letting him go on for as long as he had been, but why look a gift horse in the mouth when you could kiss her like this? And she was definitely responding. That hair was really starting to get annoying though. Finally, though reluctant to break the moment, he opened his eyes to brush it away the hair and recoiled in horror when he realised he had actually been snogging the very male, very moustached Mr Sullivan.

"What's the matter, Spike?" Sullivan asked with a wry grin. "What happened to giving the people what they want?"

"Gah!" Spike leapt out of bed, pawing at his face. He could still feel the tickly sensation of Sullivan's moustache which, he realised, was a feather poking out from the end of his duvet. He dashed to the bathroom and washed his face violently, then brushed his teeth for good measure.

Returning to bed, he plucked the offending feather out of the duvet before reversing it so the hole was at the end of the bed.

"I can't even kiss her in my sleep?" he addressed the ceiling. "Give a guy a break!"

Even Sullivan himself was not spared from the dreams plaguing his lead performers.

Lynda was not going on until Spike was beaten to death with a cricket bat. Spike refused to be beaten to death by a cricket bat, though at that point, Sullivan had been willing to give it a go. His other cast members had simply wandered off, citing homework and an exciting night of television. Colin had sold the set to a local kid's television show. Sullivan found himself standing on an empty stage, looking down at an expectant audience. They had paid to be entertained and entertained they would be.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat repeatedly, desperately searching for something, anything, and launched into the first thing that popped into his head.

"Neeeeighbours. Everybody needs good neeeeeighbours. With a little understaaaaaanding, you can find the perfect frieeeeend . . ."

He awoke with a start to find himself in his favourite armchair, with the television still on, currently playing an ancient episode of the Australian soap.

"I really must stop falling asleep in front of the television," he muttered to himself. "Everyone knows it plays with your head!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"Look up, Spike, and try not to blink," instructed Julie and began outlining Spike's eyes with black eyeliner.

"That's easy for you to say," replied Spike. "I could be the first Romeo ever with a pencil sticking out of his eye." He thought. "I have to say, I'm glad you're not Lynda right now!"

Julie laughed. "Speaking of Lynda, where is she?" she asked. "She's next to be made up. You don't think she . . ."

"Who, Lynda? No way!" Spike said jovially. "Not with Stacey Smithson on standby to be my leading lady. She'll be here. I'll bet my watch on it. And you know how much this watch means to me, Julie."

"I did hear the story," smiled Julie and turned to rummage in her make-up box for the next instrument of torture. Spike slid his eyes down to the much-treasured timepiece in question. Where was Lynda?

"Look up again," said Julie, now brandishing a mascara wand. Spike obliged.

"I'll never complain about girls taking so long to get ready again," he said. "And you do this every morning?"

"Some of us do," replied Julie. "Others prefer a more . . . basic approach." She replaced the mascara wand inside the tube and sorted through lip colours. "Just got your lips to do now."

"That's an hour-long job in itself," came a voice from the doorway. Lynda was standing at the dressing-room door, fully costumed.

"Lynda! You're dressed!" exclaimed Spike.

"Of course I'm dressed! Why wouldn't I be?" gabbled Lynda hastily, clutching her velvet dress for the hundreth time to reassure herself she was, indeed, clothed. "Did you think I was going out there naked?"

"Hey, take it easy, Boss," Spike said. "I just meant no-one else is in their costume yet."

"Right, well, yes. I just wanted to make sure I had everything . . . together," said Lynda.

"Stay there, Lynda. You're next," said Julie, applying the finishing touches to Spike's mouth. "There, Spike! You're done."

Spike stood and appraised himself in the mirror. "Love your work, Julie. But it's easy to create a masterpiece when you have perfection as the canvas!"

Julie rolled her eyes, motioned for Lynda to take Spike's recently-vacated seat and began deftly applying foundation and blusher.

"Watch out for what comes next, Lynda," warned Spike. "She's going to come at your eyes with a pencil. I distinctly remember you saying you've had more fun with a pencil stuck in your eye than talking to me, so your night may be about to get a lot more enjoyable!"

"Shut up, Spike," said Julie. "Look up, Lynda and don't blink."

"Are you going to let her boss you around like that, Lynda?" teased Spike.

"Shut up, Spike!" both girls replied together.

"There! Lynda, why don't you wear eyeliner more often? It really suits you!" said Julie, admiring her handiwork.

"I don't like eyeliner. It looks so cheap," replied Lynda and immediately noticed Julie's lined eyes narrowing. "On me! I meant on me. It suits other people. You just have to have the right look . . ." she trailed off.

"Cheap?" asked Julie, fighting the urge to poke the mascara wand into Lynda's baby blues.

"I think Lynda meant she prefers the more . . . basic approach," quipped Spike. Julie smiled wryly at him.

"Right, just the mouth to do now. Put your lips together, like this, Lynda," Julie demonstrated.

"Don't leave her like that for too long, Julie," begged Spike in mock fear. "The build-up of pressure without the release valve operational could kill us all!"

"Spike! Out!" ordered Julie, trying not to laugh.

"Okay, okay," Spike slipped down from the bench he was perched on. "I gotta go get into my tights anyway. They're pretty snug though and leave nothing to the imagination." He cast a look at Lynda. "I'd much rather get into somebody else's!" With that, he left the dressing room.

"Okay, Lynda. You're finished," said Julie.

"Hic!" replied Lynda. She got up and left the room immediately without even looking in the mirror.

"Oh, you're welcome," said Julie to herself. "Break a leg, Lynda. With any luck, it will be your own!"


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

People were starting to pour into the hall and take their seats. Naturally, opening night had sold out long before the event. Colin was manning a small booth by the entrance and was busily selling programmes for the play. Sullivan had insisted on a price of no higher than 20p but Colin reckoned these super deluxe colour versions were worth the extra 80p.

"'Personally signed by cast and crew'?" asked a first-former. "I don't see any signatures on here."

"There'll be an autograph session after the show. Only these programmes will be signed, you see," replied Colin, loftily. "1 pound, please."

"Colin! What are you doing out here?" asked a very harried-looking Mr Sullivan.

"Ah, hello, sir! Souvenir programme? Tell you what, I'll give you one for 80p, seeing as how you're part of the crew."

"Colin. What are you doing out here?" repeated Mr Sullivan through clenched teeth. "You should be backstage, in costume and make-up with the rest of the cast! We go on in twenty minutes!"

"Oh! Didn't I tell you sir? I've sub-contracted my part out."

"You. Did. What?" Sullivan hissed.

"Sub-contracted. Thought I would be more useful front-of-house, if you know what I mean. So I paid a guy in the fifth year to take my place."

"And does he know his lines?" asked Sullivan in a dangerously low voice.

"Well, I should hope so, for his sake," replied Colin cheerily. "He's on a performance-based contract. No show, no dough."

Sullivan's only reply was a mere strangled sound before walking away.

"Sir? What about your programme?" called Colin. Sullivan didn't appear to hear him. Colin shrugged. "I'll put one aside for him anyway. He can give me the money later."

Danny was setting up his camera equipment by the side of the stage. He was there in a dual role, taking photos not only for the Junior Gazette but the school's yearbook. Frazz was giving him a hand.

"So, 'ow do you reckon this play'll go, then?" Danny asked. Frazz chuckled.

"It's Spike and Lynda, Danny. What do you reckon?"

"It's boun' to be entertaining," replied Danny. "Maybe no' as Shakespeare intended but could be a laugh."

"Exactly," replied Frazz. "And look at all the people packing in here. You reckon they're interested in seeing a fine interpretation of a tragic love story? No. They want fireworks. And what are Spike and Lynda?"

"Manufacturers of the finest fireworks since the Chinese invented 'em," replied Danny. The two lads chuckled as they got the rest of the equipment set up. The lights in the hall dimmed.

"If I could have your attention please?" Mr Sullivan had strolled to the front of the stage and an excited murmur rippled through the audience.

"It's wonderful to see such a full house on opening night. Thank you all for coming. It is with great pleasure I present to you the Norbridge High School production of Romeo and Juliet."

He stepped off the stage to a round of applause and the curtain rose.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! What, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!" said Sarah, in her role as Juliet's nurse.

There was an expectant pause as she and the girl playing Lady Capulet waited for Lynda to make her first entrance.

"Where's this girl?" repeated Sarah vehemently, catching sight of Lynda in the wings looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. Throwing up her hands, she ad-libbed an exit, stage left even. Grabbing Lynda by the arms, she began shaking her.

"I can't do it, Sarah! I can't!" squeaked Lynda.

"It's okay, Sarah," said Stacey Smithson, appearing by Lynda's side. "Spike warned me this might happen. I'm ready. Give me my cue again." Sarah looked at Stacey and then back to Lynda, whose face had instantly lost the startled bunny look.

"Cue this," said Lynda rudely and shoved past her.

"How now! Who calls?" She made her entrance to a smattering of applause from the audience.

"Your mother," breathed Sarah, thankfully, scurrying in behind her.

"Madam, I am here," replied Lynda. "What is your will?"

The audience were enjoying themselves but Act 1, Scene 5 was what they had all been waiting for, Spike and Lynda's first scene together.

"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged," said Spike. This time, there were no whispered jokes or teases. Just a simple, light kiss. Not the crazy snogging of his dreams or, thankfully, the tickling of fake moustaches here. Just a kiss. The audience roared their appreciation.

"Er . . ." Lynda looked down, blushing furiously. "Er . . ."

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took!" hissed a voice from the sidelines. Stacey Smithson was nothing if not gracious in defeat. Lynda looked up at Spike.

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took," she said.

"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again," replied Spike. And again, and again, and again, he thought to himself. Another kiss. Just as perfect and sweet and tender. Spike smiled dreamily.

"You kiss by the book!" said Lynda. The audience cheered again. Spike and Lynda, however, gazes locked, were fixed in a moment and were completely unaware of their surroundings.

"Madam, your mother craves a word with you," said Sarah.

"Not now, Sarah," replied Lynda absently. The crowd erupted into laughter.

"What is her mother?" Spike continued, as though nothing had happened. The show must go on!

The audience showed their appreciation loudly throughout the play. Sullivan, watching from the wings, finally began to breathe at something approximating normal rate. Even Colin's sub-contractor had honoured his part of the bargain and played his part admirably.

It came down to the final tragic scene.

"What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make die with a restorative." Lynda bent down to kiss Spike's mouth, which, having been on its best behaviour all night, couldn't resist one tiny little joke.

"Make sure you check underneath the tongue. I saved some there for you," he whispered with his eyes still closed. Lynda sat bolt upright and shoved him off the draped table they had been using as an altar.

"Ow! Hey! That's not in the script, Lynda!" Spike's American accent returned. "Is this how you treat all your husbands?"

"Only the dead ones," retorted Lynda. "And just so you know, I wouldn't stab myself over you in a million years, Thomson!"

"Okay, maybe we can start slowly. Coffee?" called Spike to her retreating back.

"And you're supposed to be dead. Corpses don't talk!" She stormed off the stage. Sullivan buried in his head in his hands. He had been counting his unborn chickens and was now paying the price.

Fortunately, the boy playing the Prince had a quick wit and a good sense of humour and stepped in to close the play.

"A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more dislike than this of Lynda and her Spike!"

The curtain came down and the audience roared. Sullivan peered around the curtain, expecting to see people shouting for their money back. Instead, they were delivering a standing ovation, applauding loudly, stamping their feet, whistling.

"Well done, Bill," said a voice next to him. Mr Winter, the school headmaster clapped him on the shoulder. "A rather unconventional ending, but I'm always open to modern interpretations."

"Er, thank you," stammered Mr Sullivan in amazement.

The curtain had risen again for the cast to take their bows. Noticeably absent was Juliet. They bowed and the curtain came down again. The crowd starting chanting.

"Lynda! Lynda! Lynda!"

Spike had dashed backstage and found the lady in question in the girls' dressing room, snapping heads off the flowers of someone else's bouquet. Going for the surprise tactic, he grabbed her low and slung her over his shoulder, racing back towards the stage. Ignoring her shrieks of protest and flailing fists, he carried her back onto the stage, put her down, grabbed her firmly by the hand and signalled to the curtain operator. The curtain came up and the crowd erupted.

"Smile, bow, wave," instructed Spike through gritted teeth, squeezing her hand. "You can kill me later but right now, you're going to get what you deserve."

"Me, deserve! You're the one who ruined the ending!" hissed Lynda through equally clenched teeth.

"I'm talking about the applause, Lynda. You were great," said Spike, sincerely. Lynda turned, surprised.

"I suppose you weren't too bad yourself," she replied eventually.

The curtain came down for the final time.

"Hey, I never did get my last allocated kiss," joked Spike.

"Don't push it, Thomson," retorted Lynda.

_Exit Spike & Lynda._

END


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